


I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones

by queenlara



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Katara (Avatar)-centric, Katara deserves a travel fic, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Canon, abortion references if you squint, love via letter-writing, minor vigilante-ism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenlara/pseuds/queenlara
Summary: After the victory of Sozin’s comet, Katara finds herself adrift, so she wanders the Fire Nation to find herself. Amidst the healing, the helping, and the fighting, she writes Zuko letters.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones

**Author's Note:**

> It's been five years since I've written fanfic, and now I'm writing it for a show I haven't watched in 10 years. Well, Zutara always manages to inspire me. Kudos to all those Zutara fics I've devoured in the past week, I'm sure I've borrowed ideas and headcanons here. 
> 
> I firmly believe all female characters deserve a travel fic. There's something about solitary traveling that can help you find yourself, especially for a character like Katara, who is often defined by her relationships with the other characters.
> 
> Title is from "ivy" by Taylor Swift. I listened to the entire "evermore" album while writing this, especially the bonus track "it's time to go".

Katara thought she was done running. But as Aang and Zuko stand before the roaring crowd, any hesitation drains out of her, certainty resting in her gut. She nods to herself, secure in Toph’s ability to deflect and cover for her long enough for her to get out of the city. She has her pack, and had done some digging around the docks about the willingness to take on a passenger to soothe waters in exchange for a free ride up the river. Her fingers tighten on the straps of her pack as she turns, winding her way through the crowd with the grace her waterbending status grants her. 

Unbeknownst to her, Zuko’s eyes flicker to the blue moving away in the crowd, and he frowns.

* * *

When all you know is war, how do you live in the world after?

When she looks at Aang, she sees—the hope for peace. The Avatar who defeated Ozai without killing him. When she looks at her hands, she remembers them shrouded in water as she whipped soldiers off ships, sinking, gurgling in their armor. She thinks of desperate bloodbending, of drawing the moisture out of a living thing, and she screws her eyes shut. How does a killer continue to live in peace?

Sometimes, she sees the same thoughts echoed on Suki’s face, on Sokka’s, on Zuko’s—even on Toph’s. Huddled together in the sunrise of peace, she thinks she could scream. She’s the team mom, the caregiver, the healer—she can’t share these feelings. She threads this group together, whole, like she mended so many of Sokka’s shirts growing up, delicate needle threading through cloth.

No one else can sew here.

* * *

As she gently bends the water and propels them up river, she thinks to herself that Toph may be the only one who understands. Before changing the world, she was just a girl, stifled under the role her parents gave her, earthbending the shit out of opponents in an underground fighting ring. Escaping from expectations, Toph only holds her hand out as Katara hands her a bundle of letters—notes, to be frank. Short, perfunctory, with very little information.

The gist:

_I need to do this. I’ll write. Respect my decision._

_Yours,_

_Katara_

Toph just punches her arm, grinning. _No promises, Sugar Queen, but coronation day should do enough to cover your tracks. I’ll do my best to beat the shit out of anyone who tries to follow you._ Quieter, she says, _you deserve this._

Relief fills Katara; Toph was the right one to tell about this. Sokka wouldn’t understand, Suki would side with Sokka, Aang would be upset, and Zuko—well. She wasn’t sure what Zuko would do, but his wildcard status made him a little too unpredictable. Also, if she stayed in the Fire Nation, he’d put two and two together when the Painted Lady reappeared. Even if he never knew that she’d taken the mantle on originally, a waterbending spirit was just too uncommon for him to ignore the coincidences. As it was, he’d probably still figure it out, but by then, she could move on, haunting the Earth Kingdom if he had an issue with her borrowing the spirit’s name..

The itch that had been permeating her soul is soothed aboard the small vessel. But she has to find herself, for herself, not as the lesser known cling-on of—the Avatar, the Fire Lord, the future chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe. With a sour twist of her lips, she imagined what would have happened if she had stayed—no, she can’t think like that. She knew in her soul it was time to go, and she’ll know in her soul when it’s time to go home. Wherever home is.

But for now, she is water, cutting the path of least resistance, constantly moving.

* * *

The first village has a sickness cutting through it with ruthless precision. With a crescent moon painted on her head, and a veil hovering over her face, she walks from bed to bed in the hut full of the sick, healing those that she could, murmuring a quiet prayer over those that she couldn’t. She lingers for a week, cleaning the village of infection in the night, and a humble shrine to the Painted Lady is hastily constructed. Her last night, she crouches in front of it, paying homage and asking for forgiveness for borrowing the spirit’s face. A gentle breeze flutters her veil, and she nods her thanks.

* * *

The second town requires a more delicate touch, and a set of dark clothes that haven’t been touched since Yon Rha. She had followed the whispers, spoke gently to the scared women, the angry women, the women who offer their warning. She nods her thanks, a gentle touch on their hand. For one, a hand hovers over a womb, wiping away the physical traces her attacker left behind.

She lingers until the full moon, working in the local inn and tavern in exchange for a quiet bed in the back of the kitchen. 

On the night of the full moon, she finds her way into his bedroom, and with a quick tap on his chest, he suffers a heart attack in his sleep.

No shrine is built in this town, but in the days that follow, a few women come to find her in the kitchens and squeeze her hand, her shoulder, and gift her small tokens of thanks. She disappears after that.

Water heals, and water kills. The push and pull of the moon, the tides, have her following the trail of the river to her next destination.

* * *

She writes to Zuko, first, after her fifth stop. She’s been traveling for about a month and a half, and she’s aware that there will be repercussions if she continues her silence, and since she’s not eager for a surprise via flying bison, she needs to reach out. 

She tells herself she writes to Zuko since he’s the closest to her location, since he has the power to contact everyone else. In the quiet of her campsite, she allows herself to acknowledge that she’s writing to him because she misses him, too.

_ Zuko, _

_ I hope your wound is healing well. _

Tui and La, she’s awkward, isn’t she?  _ His wound? Way to go, Katara. _ Scrunching her face, she forges ahead.

_ I’m sorry I didn’t stay around long enough to ensure it finished healing properly. But I needed to leave, and I’m glad I did. The Fire Nation is beautiful, Zuko, and I’m not sure I would’ve ever properly believed it for myself if I didn’t do this. _

_ The people believe in you out here, Zuko. And I believe in you too. _

She tells him of her travels—the healing, the polluted rivers, the house fires—leaving out the disguises she sometimes wears, or the quiet vigilantism she occasionally partakes in. She tells him of the people she meets, the citizens who appreciate the help of a healer, a waterbender, a mythical spirit, a knife in the dark, and she signs her letter—

_ Yours,  _

_ Katara _

* * *

The letter is tucked in the top drawer of his desk, the creases flattened from being read and re-read when his council makes him want to spit fire, when the doubt weighs on his shoulders, alone at the top of a war-torn nation.

He sends messages to everyone, of course, to reassure them that she’s okay, but he can’t deny that his heart stutters when he realizes that she wrote him first. And if Aang or Sokka’s temper in their responses hinted at anything, she  _ only _ wrote to him.

* * *

After three months of wandering (healing, fighting, living) the Fire Nation, she’s meandering her way to the shoreline. Her toes digging in the sand, she allows the song of the ocean to soothe her, the wind to playfully tug her hair. She’s found peace out here. Every day, she finds herself uncovering more of who she is, outside of what others see.

In solitude, she wonders if she can melt into the ocean, pour herself into her element, pushing and pulling along the shoreline. She sits cross legged on the shore, uncaring of wet pants as the waves lap at her gently, and she shuts her eyes to meditate. 

She understands the Air Nomads better now. There’s so much to see, to experience, that she wonders if she’ll ever return at all, or if she can wander forever. But then she thinks of Zuko, his passion, his hotheadedness, his stubbornness, his pride, the smile she’ll know she’ll get when she returns, the warm curve of his arms, of a whispered  _ welcome home  _ against the shell of her ear. She thinks of how he signs his letters—

_ Yours, _

_ Zuko _

* * *

Bandits are always a fun challenge, she thinks, but this is the first time she’s fought them as the Painted Lady. The veil gets in the way, and she’s almost tempted to throw the stupid hat away if she couldn’t see the edge of fear in the whites of their eyes. She has the added benefit of floating on a river—an ice disk under the edges of her dress, mist erupting around her and adding to the air of mystery. It’s the new moon, the double-edged sword that it is. The darkness gives her the advantage, but she’s at her weakest. Without Yue’s gaze on her, she feels more alone than she’s felt in ages.

One of them, of course, is a firebender, and of course, the stupid dress has no protection on the shoulders. She hisses when the heat catches her left shoulder, screaming in the kind of pain that ignites a deeper panic in her than she cares to admit. With a jerk of her hand, she slams him into a tree, his head cracking dangerously before he drops to the ground. Gazing around, she verifies that they’re all incapacitated in some way, and directs her ice disk to the shore. 

She guides river water to her shoulder, which feels dangerously devoid of feeling. Katara’s not often hit straight on with fire, as she can mitigate the damage of heat with her bending, but this—this looks bad. She’s been in the Fire Nation long enough to see the damage that third degree burns can deal. And the river is polluted, which is the whole reason she’s dressed as the Painted Lady tonight, bandits be damned.

Running her hands once, twice, three times over the wound, she frowns. It’s not healing as quickly as she’d like, the skin angry and red. The polluted water, the absence of Yue, and her exhaustion from dealing with bandits leads to a messy healing, and she drops her hand, the water sprinkling onto the ground.

_ Zuko, _

_ I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, but you’re not bothering me when you ask for advice. If it makes you feel better, I can charge you for it—kidding! But the political problems give me something to think about that’s not eradicating illness or pollution, so it’s a different kind of puzzle for me. _

_ I think you should take a closer look at the military budget—the military was so trumped up before, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s surplus money laying in some forgotten (or falsified) line items, and it’s not like Ozai or Azula would’ve cared to do a combover of the budget, not during the war. I know you want to avoid raising taxes, but you’re right, the public infrastructure projects can’t wait. They’ve been neglected for too long, and some of these systems are only holding on due to a miracle (the Painted Lady, perhaps), but I still think you can turn your council over and shake out some extra money. Write to Iroh for advice, he has a keen eye on who can be trusted. _

_ Speaking of infrastructure, there’s a factory on the river I’m on that’s causing some pollution, as well as some lovely bandits. I think a surprise inspection along with some reinforcement might help settle down the issues in this area. You’ll be disappointed to learn it’s harder to dodge fire when wearing a veil—and I obviously haven’t been sparring with enough firebenders recently, so we’ll have to rectify that when I return. Send my love to the others. I’ve written to all but Aang recently, I haven’t heard news of where he’s at now. _

_ Yours, _

_ Katara _

* * *

Zuko always, always writes her back. Her other friends are perhaps a little too mad, or have already moved on, so she gets snippets from them. Of course, her letters to them are short and to the point, descriptions of festivals, healings, and assurances that she’s okay. Excerpts, non-sequiturs. But she thinks if she and Zuko bound their letters together, they’d have a whole novel between them. As they are now, bundled in her pack and wrapped in waterproof tiger-sealskin, read over and over in the light of the fire.

When she reads the letters, she can almost imagine him sitting next to her, cross legged, knees brushing, shaggy hair falling over his face. She wants to run her fingers through it when she’s not crying over him in the aftermath of a horrific lightning strike, because she remembers it’s soft.

_ Katara, _

_ I think you’ve seen more of the Fire Nation than I have, at this point. When I was banished, I wasn’t allowed near it. I wish I could meet these people—the council seems so disconnected from the common folks. I know this trip has nothing to do with this, and it feels twisted that everything has a political bent now, but the knowledge and stories you share are so incredibly important. _

_ Thank you for helping  _ ~~_ me _ ~~ _ my people. _

She runs her index finger over the crossed out word, humming to herself.

_ I’ve tried to take your advice about perspectives—how water flows around, moves, adapts. I try to take that perspective in meetings when I feel like smoke is coming out of my nose in frustration _ . 

Katara knows this is not an exaggeration, as the first time she saw that reaction she let out peals of laughter.

_ It’s effective in meetings—more effective than my temper. Look, I can imagine you rolling your eyes and saying “I told you so,” so quit it. Your solution on the budget was helpful, too. _

_ I’m afraid to ask what you mean about dodging fire in veils. I don’t have any experience in that realm, but I can tell you that, once the wound is healed, massaging the scar helps. I’m sure you already know this, you’re the healer, not me, but still. I reserve the right to worry, since it’s my nation you’re traipsing about. _

_ I miss you _ —and here, fire stokes low in her belly, and she imagines golden eyes burning, even if she loves him for the way he never asks when she’ll return, because he knows she needs this— _ and I wait for your next letter. _

_ Yours,  _

_ Zuko _

* * *

She’s captured, once. By cowards afraid of a spirit, and weasels who know she’s all too human under her veil and paint. But sheer dumb luck and a blow to her head stuns her—the panicked desperation of someone who will do anything to keep corruption quiet.

Half stunned, water splattering back into the river, she isn’t worried for a brief moment—when she doesn’t return to camp, they’ll look for her, they’ll find her—and then fear that she is utterly alone. In her quest for solitude, her mostly infrequent correspondence doesn’t promise checkpoints. It will be long before someone notices she’s gone—and a fear she hasn’t quite felt since Sozin’s comet stabs into her heart like an ice dagger.

She had been following the trail of whispers of girls disappearing from villages, but the spirit can guard the villages better than a lone waterbender could. She hadn’t expected them to lash out, not yet, and she’s paid for that mistake now.

When she awakens, she is chained and parched, weighed down with the knowledge that a full moon isn’t yet for two weeks. She is at her weakest, but the fear has subsided, aware of her strength, her ingenuity—and she bides her time, with only the terrible assurance that she can bloodbend her solitary guard into releasing her.

She knows why she’s still alive—the man she’d been hunting for information on was in the capital, attending political meetings with the Fire Lord—she cannot think about Zuko, speaking unknowingly with a man who’s estate held her captive, waiting in judgement for his return. She is chained, and she slowly siphons off bits of water to help freeze and weaken the metal as she waits for the full moon. Her shoulder, scarred from the bandit incident, aches at the angle her arms are twisted at.

The nights blur, but the tug in her stomach follows the moon’s path along the sky, even underground. And then—chains freeze, a guard gurgles a dying song, and a key is pressed unwillingly into her hand.

Dehydrated, half starved, she stumbles out of captivity under the light of Yue, and she takes a moment to bow to her friend with a murmured  _ thank you. _

No one save perhaps Zuko will notice a break in correspondence. He, out of all her companions, she writes to most of all. She tells herself it is because she is traipsing around his country under the guise of a Fire Nation spirit, but it doesn’t hurt that he’s the only one who truly understood that she needed to be alone to find herself. When she’s not a sister, caretaker, teacher—who is she? The thread, straining in the pull of the fabric, gathering them together.

Thread can only be so strong before it snaps in a hundred different places, fraying.

However loathe she is to share this with him, miles away in a palace trying to rebuild a nation after a century of war, she sends him a brief note at the closest village.

_ Zuko, _

_ I’ll keep this brief, but I swear by Tui and La, if you tell Aang or my brother, we will have words—but there’s a corrupt official in a southern province. I’ve found evidence that he’s looking the other way when slavers take girls from villages, and selling them to nobility in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation.  _

_ You’ll have to act fast. I was captured by his men and escaped, so I imagine he’ll be busy hiding evidence, and I haven’t traced out all the players in this game. I plan to lay low for now, but I’ll write again when I’m safe. _

_ Yours, _

_ Katara _

There. Vague, and ominous enough that he might accidentally burn the letter in frustration, but he’ll respect her words and send someone to investigate.

Most times, she provides a town for him to send a reply to. This time, she does not. She tells herself it’s in case her letter is intercepted, not because she’s afraid she’d find a familiar face waiting in the named location. She’s not ready, not yet—she’s still untangling her threads from her roles, still finding herself. She’s adrift in the ocean and not ready to head to a home harbor.

_ Two steps forward, three steps back _ , she finds in this strange (re)discovery of herself. She feels like a phoenix being reborn from the ashes, but she’s still smoldering.

* * *

The uniformed man clears his throat. “Master Katara?”

She blinks. It’s been ages since she’s heard her name. She normally offers  _ Kya _ or  _ Yue  _ at villages and towns, because she hasn’t felt like the  _ Katara _ that was in a very long time. 

Tucked at a table in a quiet tavern, huddled over food that’s still a little too spicy for her liking, she frowns at him. She’s torn from instinctual fear of a Fire Nation soldier, and the knowledge that she’s saved the life of the man who currently sends orders down the chain.

He tries again. “You’re Master Katara, right?”

Katara blinks again, jolted out of her thoughts, and nods.

“Letter from the desk of the Fire Lord.” He holds out parchment sealed carefully by wax, the same seal that decorates every letter bundled safely away inside her pack. Taking the letter, she gently traces the seal. 

“I’m to wait until you write a response,” he continues, when it doesn’t look like she’ll immediately open the letter. “Orders.”

Frowning, Katara eyes the man. “How did you know I was here?”

The man shifts, obviously uncomfortable. “The Fire Lord,” he says shortly. 

_ He’s been keeping tabs on me. Not like it’s hard, waterbenders aren’t common here. Iroh must’ve helped him streamline the spy network, he was always good at information gathering. _

She’s not bothered by this, like she thought he would be. Zuko obviously respected her wishes, but he’d be remiss not to keep tabs on a rogue waterbender prowling through his nation, and he only used that information to get a letter to her after she escaped her precarious situation. Casting one more glance at the soldier, she breaks the wax seal and reads the letter.

The first thing she notices are the edges—singed, crisp scorch marks in the shape of a hand just as familiar, if larger than her own. It warms her, and she can’t tell if she’s imagining the scent of familiar smoke when she unfolds the letter.

_ Katara, _

_ I won’t lie, I’m tempted to assign you a messenger hawk if it meant getting faster replies, but I’ll hold off on that. For now. I apologize if Duzak surprised you, but I had an idea of your general location from your last letter. Don’t worry if Duzak stares. I did ask him to make sure you looked okay. _

She glances up at the soldier, Duzak, and frowns at him, her hand subconsciously touching her burned shoulder, hidden by her simple Fire Nation top, and her uncovered wrists, mostly healed from the chains, but two weeks of rubbing against chains prevents injuries even she can’t heal away. Scowling, she knows it will go into Duzak’s report, but she can’t begrudge him this. It’s tempting for her to ask how Zuko looks, but she tamps that down, and refocuses on the letter.

_ I know I promised I wouldn’t interfere, but Agni, Katara—if you hadn’t escaped, how long would it have been until we had figured it out? I’ll try not to harp on you, but please, take care of yourself. _

_ In regards to the official, as much as I’d like to deal with him myself, I’ve dispatched some trusted people to look into him, but lay low. If he knows who you are, that’s going to cause some problems. _

_ Please write back to Duzak, just so I know you’re okay. I’d feel better if I saw for myself that you’re alright, but I know I’ll see you again. I miss you. _

_ Love, _

_ Zuko _

Katara’s eyebrows raise at the sign-off. That was new. Based on the speed of his response to her, she can imagine him shooting this letter off before he had a chance to second guess himself. 

But the flutters in her stomach as she traces his familiar handwriting are not new, and she bites her lip. Tui and La, she misses him too. And now, more than ever, she’s tempted to follow Duzak back to the palace to fall into the warm circle of his arms.

Duzak passes her a fresh parchment and a pen at her unspoken request, and she jots down her thoughts—

_ Zuko, _

_ Thanks for the warning about Duzak. I could feel his eyes on me the entire letter. I’ll let him report my status to you, but I’m okay. Yue, as always, has my back, and knowing you were out there waiting for my next letter lent me strength. I’m not sure when they captured me if they knew who I was, but I’m sure by now the official has put it together. I have no interest in becoming any more familiar with that cell, so I leave it in the capable hands of your soldiers. _

_ (Unless, of course, the Blue Spirit would like to make an appearance with the Painted Lady) _

_ Kidding, of course. I know you can’t get away right now. But the Painted Lady will make her way up to Caldera City soon, as there’s a Fire Lord she needs to grant her blessing. And of course, I miss you too.  _

_ If you send another messenger like this, at least make sure he’s not as conspicuous. Not all places I’m in would welcome a soldier from the current Fire Lord. _

_ I have a few stops on the way, but I’ll see you soon.  _

_ All my love, _

_ Katara _

She doesn’t let herself hesitate on the sign-off, and allows Duzak to drip wax on the seal of the letter. She carefully presses her thumb into it, lingering longer than necessary, embedding the whorls of her thumbprint into the paper.

* * *

Zuko receives Duzak in his private office instead of his larger meeting chambers.  _ Privacy _ , he tells himself, but the man’s impassive face has him curling his fingers into his fist, blunt nails pressing into his palm, almost hot enough to scorch. He doesn’t reach for the letter yet, afraid it might burst into flames if his fingers brush against it.

He waits, not patiently, but breathing, thinking of the push and pull of water rather than the igniting breath of fire.

“Your majesty, the waterbender—”

“Katara,” he interrupts. 

“Master Katara, yes. She looked alright. Her wrists though…”

Zuko looks up at that, eyes narrowing. “Her wrists?” he prompts, when Duzak seems to trail off.

“Yes, it was obvious that she’s been healing from—being contained. And it looked like her shoulder was bothering her. But other than that, she looked perfectly healthy.”

Zuko relaxes imperceptibly in his chair. “That will be all.” He waves his hand. “Dismissed.” Duzak bows low and slips out of the room. Zuko brushes his fingers over the letter, gently tracing over the seal that bears her fingerprint, and breaks it.

Under his star-shaped scar, his heart jumps as he traces her signature. She misses him too, and not for the first time, he wonders if she feels his love through the letters like he can feel hers.

He pulls out some parchment to begin his response.

* * *

Zuko’s next letter arrives when she’s in a larger town hunting a monster—because calling him a man gives him too much credit, and the women cringe behind their husbands when he prowls past. The whole family is rotten to the core, but their grip on this town is a stranglehold. She works in a clinic now, and the letter is slipped into her hands by a persistent patient, an action which has her tensing briefly before she recognizes the familiar seal and relaxes.

She goes by  _ Jun _ here, so seeing her own name again is like a physical jolt. His messenger is subtler this time, and she thanks all the Spirits for that. She had hinted to Duzak where her next location was, and he’d done a very good job at figuring her out.

_ Katara, _

_ Duzak says you’re looking well, so count your stars that I haven’t sent a battalion after you. I feel I’m showing remarkable restraint here, considering Aang is visiting and at my disposal. _

_ I’m glad you’re safe, and I’ve sent some agents to investigate what you’ve indicated. Unfortunately, the Blue Spirit is a little too busy being a local hero to venture out of Caldera City, but he’ll remember the invitation. _

_ When you come home, I’m sure they’ll make a great tag team in the city. _

Her heart skips at that—she’s not sure when she started thinking of Caldera City as a home to return to, but that’s not quite the truth.  _ Zuko _ is her home, and that’s what warms her to her core. 

She tries not to think about how easy it would be to return to him now, but her grip tightens on the letter when she thinks of the women who need her here. The people who need her, to remove a man and his family from terrorizing a town full of innocent people.

_ Aang asked about you, by the way, and I provided a condensed version of your adventure. Of course, leaving out your most recent incident, but don’t think I’ll forget that. If you need me to save you from the pirates, just write to me.  _

_ I’ll wait for your next letter. Come home soon, _ he urges, and she wants to, now; rebuilt as she is. But there’s more work to do.

_ Dreaming of you, _

_ Zuko _

The letter keeps her warm inside, fingers tingling like she’s a firebender as she bustles about the clinic, head tucked down to hide her eyes. Her hair is longer now, but she lets it curl gently down her back, haloing her protectively. Katara knows she’ll have to move soon with the attention she’s garnering at the clinic and the whispers of bravery from the townspeople, but she hopes to wait for the full moon to strike.

Katara learned on the Day of the Black Sun that hope is a funny thing, and as the whispers begin to grow louder, Katara decides to hit first.

That night finds her giggling with false drunken bravado as she straddles the monster’s lap, ignoring the cold hands gripping her thighs as she inches her hands up his chest to tap on his sternum, and he jerks, pleasant expression melting off his face only for twisted rage to replace it.

“You  _ bitch _ ,” he snarls, hand gripping her hair and  _ yanking _ back Tears sting her eyes, and before she can second guess herself, an ice dagger has formed in her hands and is shearing her hair off before she twirls out of his grip and then plunges the dagger into his chest, twisting and snarling, curls of hair adorning the floor. 

“This is for the women, you fucking monster,” she hisses.

Panting, she carefully gathers up the strands of her hair, a telltale sign of her presence, and steels herself for the rest of the household.

She leaves the town the next day, after carefully meeting with a few of the townspeople with a solid plan to fill the power void.  _ Another day, another coup, _ she thinks. Save for one curled lock of hair, bundled by a red ribbon, she lets the rest float away down the river.

* * *

_ Zuko, _

_ I think your hair may be longer than mine now—I always wondered how I’d look with short hair. I hope you like it, when you see it. I do. It was a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying. I feel freer now. A woman in the village told me that giving locks of hair to people you love was once a tradition, and well—it’s up to you, if you’d like to keep it. _

_ I know you’ll bother me until I tell you how I received my impromptu haircut, and before I start, don’t get mad. I know, not promising to start a story like that, but I feel the need to preface it. A man grabbed me by the hair, so I cut it off, basically. He’s not a problem anymore, so don’t you dare send any troops down here. I think the town can restabilize internally without help from the larger government. _

_ If Aang is still there, give him my best. It’s hard to send him letters when he’s flying around on Appa, but I’m sure that’s how everyone feels about me. _

_ I’ll be home soon. Keep an eye out for any Painted Lady sightings to figure out where to send your next letter. _

_ Missing your warmth, _

_ Katara _

His fingers curl around the lock of hair, but he frowns nonetheless at the letter. At this point, she would start attracting more attention, positive and negative. He’d like to send one guard, just one trusted man to serve as back-up, but winces imagining her indignant shriek at the assumption. He’d let it lie.  _ For now. _

Less than a day later, the hair is tucked gently into a locket that finds his way into the pocket of his robes, fingers curled around it like a worry stone.

* * *

Every time Katara turns her head, she’s shocked by how light it feels without the extra hair hanging down, hand rubbing gently on the exposed back of her neck. She  _ loves _ it. She’s walking slowly, enjoying the sunshine of early spring, the buds on the trees just beginning to shyly return.

She’s on her way to a factory that’s doing a fabulous job of ignoring what happens to most factories that pollute the water in the Fire Nation—a visit from the Painted Lady. Idly, Katara wraps a short tendril around her pointer finger, wondering if anyone will notice the spirit’s new haircut.

In the forest, she settles down for camp where she can keep an eye on the factory. She takes note of the number of guards—now  _ why _ would a factory need guards with arrows, she wonders—and she begins chewing on jerky she had picked up from the closest town, that she’ll return to after tonight. After all, she wants to see how the factory reacts to the sabotage before leaving, and it should give enough time for Zuko to track her location. It’s become a game between them. She sprinkles hints of where she might go, and unnervingly, letters always appear in the right place. It makes her feel less alone.

Waiting for sundown, she runs through the first movements of waterbending to center herself, pushing thoughts of the golden-eyed Fire Lord out of her mind. The Painted Lady was needed here, and she’d have a letter from him soon enough.

Night finds her dancing across the water in a shroud of mist, working on freezing the tainted water in the pipes. As they burst, one by one, she hears the panicked shouting of men, and smirks when she hears her alias on their lips.  _ A warning _ , she thinks,  _ hopefully they’ll take it. _

They don’t, of course, instead kicking down doors in the village the next day, accusing its people of harboring a vigilante. But she’s kind and clever, and the combination keeps the villagers' mouths shut.

In the midst of her silent night warfare, she awakens to a letter with a familiar seal.  _ He’s getting better at this game _ , Katara thinks, a small smile on her lips as she breaks the seal.

_ Katara, _

_ Your hair will look good no matter the length, but stop fishing for compliments. Come home and I’ll tell you what I think to your face. I’ve never received a lock of hair as a gift before, but it’s found a home in a locket that belonged to my mother. I think she would’ve approved. _

_ Citizens in the capital are abuzz about the Painted Lady, for better or for worse, but be careful. I’ve dealt with enough of these industrialists that I know they won’t back down without a fight, despite the penalties for polluting the water. If you told me that being Fire Lord would mean countless days spent arguing about sewer water, I don’t think I would’ve taken the job. And really, I’d argue that you defeated Azula in the Agni Kai, so shouldn’t  _ you _ have become the Fire Lord? I think you’d be well suited to the job. _

_ Be safe, be smart, and come home to bless me, Painted Lady. _

_ Eternally yours, _

_ Zuko _

* * *

Katara, Zuko thinks, might just be the death of him.

This isn’t the first time he’s thought it, and it won’t be the last as he pours over the reports of a standoff between the Painted Lady and the factory owner, wishing his people could just fly there on Appa to put an end to the stress and shut down the factory for blatant ignorance of the laws on pollution. 

As it was, they were on their way as fast as possible, but he can only hope that they get there before Katara finds (another!) arrow in her, spirit or not. If she keeps up this Painted Lady act, maybe she’ll get a more practical outfit. That robe was simply too flowy and impeded her movements. 

Not for the first time, he wonders why his desk was made of wood, trying to ignore his own charred handprint that was now seared into the tabletop, next to, of course, an astonishingly casual letter from the Painted Lady herself.

_ Zuko, _

_ The Painted Lady sends her regards. The village and I are ready for your people to just arrest the man already, and then we’ll get started on cleanup. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve gotten better at dodging arrows after some substantial practice on the river. The real question is why a factory needs armed guards? Pretty suspicious. _

_ I don’t think the Fire Sages would want a waterbender on the throne (is that even legal?) so I’ll leave the job to you. Azula broke the rules when she involved me in the fight, so I don’t think I even technically won the Agni Kai. Tui and La, it’s disappointing to think that we won because she was technically disqualified? I’ll leave the rules to you, Fire Lord. _

_ I know I’ve said it before, but I do mean it this time—soon. I’ll be home soon.  _

_ All my blessings, _

_ The Painted Lady _

* * *

Katara scowls at the man, who does his best not to squirm under her heated gaze.  _ Agni, _ he thinks,  _ they even glare the same. _

“Please repeat to me,” she starts, “ _ exactly _ what the Fire Lord said your orders were, Toza.”

“The Fire Lord ordered that I accompany you until you return home, Master Katara. For your safety,” Toza repeats for the third time, wondering if the waterbender had perhaps suffered hearing loss during the end of the 100-year war.

“For  _ my _ safety?”

“Err... for the safety of the citizens of our great nation?”

“Well, I suppose you can’t help your orders, Toza,” Katara murmurs deferentially. Toza can’t help but feel like he’s heard the jaws of a trap snap around him when she uses that tone, but the Fire Lord was very specific about accompanying her for the last few stops of her journey.

Katara just leads the soldier on the road out of the town, pack bundled over her back.

“Would you like help carrying that?” he offers, thinking of the manners his mother drilled into him for years. Toza knows she’s a master waterbender and helped end the war, but still. She’s so  _ small.  _ Like his younger sister.

“Were  _ those _ part of your orders too, Toza?” she snaps, eyes narrowing. “I’m more than capable of carrying my own pack. The Fire Lord knows this, since I carried him after he defeated his sister. You know I’m capable of carrying my own pack, right?”

“Of course, Master Katara.”

Katara thinks she’s pretty damn proud of herself for making it three days with Toza. It’s not that he’s unpleasant company, per se, but it’s the  _ principle _ of the matter. She did not need an escort, despite the Painted Lady incident, or the capture, or the  _ other _ Painted Lady incident… well, at least  _ she  _ didn’t think she needed a chaperone.

She learns that he’s the only boy in a family full of girls, that he’s allergic to fire flakes, is three years older than her, and loyal to Zuko to a fault.

One morning, Katara turns to Toza seriously, widening her eyes and biting her lip deliberately. 

“Toza,” she begins, “I know you’re on orders to accompany me, but I learned some absolutely vital information the Fire Lord must see as soon as possible. Can we split up, and I’ll wait in the next town for you? I would never suggest this otherwise, but it’s very, _ very _ important.”

Toza frowns at Katara. “Master Katara, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better if we traveled together back to the palace?”

“We’ll save time if I can at least make it to the next village to begin healing some of the villagers. I think it’s a disease that is spreading, so it’s critical I get there first. But if you can deliver this letter to Zuko—to the Fire Lord—he can send more healers.”

Toza looks suspiciously at her. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of this disease?”

“Women’s intuition,” she says airily, waving a hand. “Please, Toza. Deliver this to the Fire Lord.”

“I guess it can’t hurt…,” Toza says dubiously, taking the sealed letter from her outstretched hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Do  _ not _ leave that village without me.”

“Of course, Toza! I’d expect nothing less.”

One week later, Zuko is frowning at the same man in his office, an unopened letter on his desk.

“You just  _ left _ her there?”

“She promised she wouldn’t leave the village! And anyways, it sounded really important. She’ll be safe if she stays where she’s at. Also, Master Katara is very competent,” Toza implores the Fire Lord, trying not to sweat under his heated glare. Yeah, they really do share the same glare.  _ Scary. _

_ Zuko, _

_ Surprise! There is no urgent letter. Send another guard after me. I dare you. It won’t end well. _

_ I’ll be home soon. I miss you, even when you’re being an overprotective jerkbender. _

_ All my love, _

_ Katara _

* * *

Katara never intends to lie. In her earlier letters, she did miss Zuko—does miss him—but life has a way of delaying her. So when she hears the townspeople murmur about a witch healer, she follows the scent like a shirshu and comes across Yen in a remote hut. The older woman had sharp golden eyes and fine gray hair, but she didn’t look like a witch.

“A witch?” She snorts derisively. “Yes, the men may call me a witch. But ask the women, and they’ll sing a different tune.” Yen gestures expansively to her hut, larger than it needs to be for a single woman in the woods. “I treat every woman in the village, and the men murmur when pregnancies vanish. They speculate that I eat the babies from the womb, but why else would the women still come to me?”

Katara hones in on that. “You can end a pregnancy without—” She hesitates, and those golden eyes narrow in on her, achingly familiar. 

“Perhaps I’m not the only witch,” Yen only murmurs.

Katara hesitates, and then bows carefully. “Please,” she starts, “train me in the ways of a medicine woman. Water can only heal so much.”

“Get up, girl. You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Katara,” she answers, a rare instance of her true name, but she had a feeling that Yen would know if she lies. Yen reminds her of Toph, of Gran Gran, of Zuko, and she was swept by a wave of homesickness.  _ Soon,  _ she promises herself.  _ Soon. _

She settles in quicker than she anticipates—for all her gruffness, Yen seems to enjoy her companionship. Katara explains what she seeks when she runs a diagnostic hand gloved in water over a patient, and explains how she’d helped women in other towns with similar issues.

“Of course,” Katara continues, “the herb is much more helpful than me, because they can at least take care of it if I’m not there.”

Yen nods. “If I was younger, perhaps, I could treat on the move—but these old bones have settled in this forest, and men are superstitious.”

After helping the third woman with a certain intimacy problem, Katara turns to Yen, frowning. Even in the Northern Water Tribe, this problem was rare, so when the patient leaves, Katara poses her questions as delicately as she can.

“Is that true?” Yen asks, looking at her carefully. The medicine woman was shrewd, of course, but Katara fixes her face serenely, like she saw the healers in the Northern Tribe do.

“The water tribe believes that when a man and a woman are both satisfied in an encounter, it leads to large, healthy families,” she replies loftily. “And less tears of this nature.” Toph could vouch for her heartbeat, if she was here.

Yen  _ hmms _ in response. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to suggest,” she murmurs, continuing to grind the herbs carefully.

A few days later, Katara is swirling water over a patient’s womb. Her name was Uzora, and Katara could tell that there was an unusual—growth, for lack of a better term, tucked on the left side. She can’t quite reach it with water, but bloodbending, maybe...Uzora had been suffering with debilitating cramps, and an inability to get pregnant. But, but—she very rarely uses bloodbending, and the victims were always unwilling, and mostly dead at the end of the

experience, so no one could expose her. But Katara knew, just  _ knew, _ that if she didn’t heal this, it would continue to grow and take her life.

“Uzora,” Katara starts. “I’ve found the problem, but it will be painful to cure—is it alright if we give you some sedative herbs?”

Yen turns sharply to face her, and Katara meets her gaze evenly, nodding once. Uzora also nods, and Yen begins preparing the concoction. The sun is beginning to set, and the Yue is waxing, so Katara is confident in herself.

Within a few hours, her hands hover over Uzora, carefully, so carefully, killing bits of the intrusion until she’s sweating with the effort, hands trembling. When Yue is at her peak, her hands drop.

“I’m done,” Katara whispers, and Yen helps her into her sleeping roll.

“You saved her life, Katara. I’m proud of you.”

Warmed by the words, she settles into a dreamless sleep.

_ Zuko, _

_ You’re not still mad about the “urgent message” thing, right? You better not be, because I can kick your jerkbender butt from here. I won’t apologize for it, because you  _ know _ how suspicious it would be if I traveled with some Fire Nation guard. It’d be weird, and I can protect myself. Even with the hair incident, the capture incident, and the bandit incident—I’ll be honest, writing out those incidents feels kind of incriminating, but I stand by my point. _

_ I can tell you’re itching to get that mask out and come find me, but let me comfort you by telling you I’m learning with a medicine woman, Yen. She’s incredible, Zuko—her knowledge of herbs could really bolster the larger hospitals in Caldera City. When I’m back, I want to work with some of the head healers. I also think I could disseminate some other important information while I’m there. That, I won’t put in a letter, but we’ll chat when I’m home. _

_ I miss you, Zuko. Give Iroh a hug for me—yes, I know he’s in the capital right now. Even in the backwoods, we hear about the Dragon of the West! _

_ All my heart, _

_ Katara _

* * *

Katara doesn’t expect the return of the slavers—frankly, she thought Zuko would have dealt with them by now. She’s in town, chatting with the many women she’s helped, sharing giggles, and Katara feels more joy than she’s felt in a while, gathering some supplies for Yen.

By Tui and La’s grace, she’s not recognized as the Painted Lady, or a saboteur, or even Katara, friend of the Fire Lord and the Avatar—just another girl for the count. But she can’t bend now, not without giving herself away, and even if she escapes, the other women won’t, so she follows, quietly. She thinks with a pang— _ Zuko’s going to kill me for this. _

Zuko’s next letter doesn’t reach Katara.

Yen breaks the seal, brows furrowing as she realizes the friends the waterbender talked about were people in high places.  _ That girl _ , she thinks,  _ always full of surprises. _

_ Katara, _

_ You can’t say I’m being unreasonable when you’re the one who sent a lock of hair in a letter and told me not to worry about it. You’re in my nation, so I think I’m allowed to worry about you. I’m not too angry about the “urgent message” incident, but Uncle still likes to bring it up over tea. So thanks for that. _

_ The Agricultural Minister has been pestering me about where I’m getting so many ideas about projects, but I’m still refusing to tell him. I keep saying I read it in the library scrolls, and he’s been holed up in there for days trying to get ideas to prove his ingenuity. When you get back, I’ll tell him the truth—it’ll be funny to see his response when he realizes he’s been praising a waterbender. _

_ I can’t wait for you to get home and turn this place upside down. _

_ Forever yours, _

_ Zuko _

Frowning, Yen pens a quick letter in response. She knows,  _ knows  _ in her bones the girl will be okay, but well—if anyone can deal with the slavers, the Fire Lord can. 

* * *

Katara allows herself to be taken on the ship, knowing the comfort of the waves, tempted to sink them all and be done with this. But she has the other women to think about, and if she gets to an area with more women—well, she’s saving Zuko a trip, at least. She doesn’t count this as a capture, she counts this as subterfuge. Not that Zuko will see it that way, but who could’ve predicted the Fire Lord was such a worrier?

But of course, she thinks of the star-shaped scar on his chest, and tucks her chin down against her own. He’s always been a worrier.

She closes her eyes, breathes in tandem with the waves lulling the ship, and waits.

* * *

The cut is healed, poorly—it’s the new moon, and she exhausted herself hours earlier, but the girls are safe, and waiting for her, so she has to be quick.

Her blood is still smeared over her arms and hands as she hunches over in the dark office, ignoring the quiet corpse behind her. He can’t hurt her anymore, but she filches the papers from the secret drawer after she froze the locking mechanism, and she scrawls out a note on the letterhead of a dead man, streaked with blood from her hands—her blood, his blood, others, but she hardly notices as she relaxes into the familiar motions of writing his name.

_ Zuko, _

_ I’m sorry. I’m safe. I miss you. I want to come home soon. But this time, I promise, is not my fault—the stragglers from the slaver you took out earlier were trying to restart in the Earth Kingdom, so I find myself far from home and weary for you. _

_ It’s taken care of, for now. I can’t tell you not to worry, but take these papers and track down the rest of the scum for me. _

_ More than words can describe—yours, _

_ Katara _

She slips out the window and retraces the path to the harbor. The women were more than happy to discard the bodies of the men from the ship, and between all of them, they could steer home. She rests a hand on her heart, feeling the beat, and imagined it beating in tandem with a boy in a palace across the ocean.

* * *

He receives Yen’s letter first, and the unfamiliar script has his heart dropping like a stone in his chest. All thoughts of breathing evenly dissipate as he roars fire, calling for the nearest man to fetch Iroh—thank  _ Agni _ he’s not back in Ba Sing Se yet—as he rereads the words.

_ Your majesty, _

_ I apologize for breaching your trust and reading your letter, but I trust you’ll understand the circumstances. I’m Katara’s teacher, Yen, and a few days ago, she was taken with a few of the other women from the village. We’re not sure where, but there’s been a problem with slavers in the area, and rumors whisper they might be in the Earth Kingdom. _

_ She’s mentioned you—not by name, but she misses you. _

_ Respectfully, _

_ Yen _

Pacing, he hardly notices the singed footsteps that draw a clear circle around the room. The Earth Kingdom... that means he’ll have to write to Kuei. But he doesn’t have the time—maybe the Blue Spirit can handle this, what a  _ diplomatic nightmare  _ to accuse slavers of operating out of the Earth Kingdom—he roars all over again, hot hands clutching a locket full of curly brown hair that rests in his pocket.  _ Katara, _ he pleads.  _ Come home to me. _

The next letter comes three days later, carefully bundled with other records and documents, each more incriminating than the last.

He notices the smears of blood first, then the mocking letterhead of a former colony official, and his vision tunnels. Carefully exhaling smoke, he smooths his hand over the reddish-stains, rage pounding in his blood like war drums.

Letter tucked inside his robes, he gathers the rest of the documents Katara sent and makes his way to the meeting chambers. Katara had cut off one head of the two-headed viper snake, and he damned well was going to finish the job. 

He’d do anything to keep his mind off of the stained letter, fingers curling like he could summon the waterbender with a twitch of his hand.  _ She’ll be home soon. She calls this home _ , he chants to himself, a prayer.

_ Agni, please, let her come home safe. _

* * *

_ His hair is longer _ , she thinks. With part of it tucked up under his crown, and  _ Tui,  _ his _ robes _ —for one aching moment, he looks untouchable, and her letters feel frail and small in her pack. But then he spots her, and he lights up like the sun. Katara wants to shade her eyes in his glow, and she feels every minute of her year-long sojourn across the country.

Hair shorter, skin darker and speckled with even darker freckles from time spent in the sun, adorned with new scars and a layer of grime from traveling, she shifts on her feet and smiles back. She wishes she’d taken the servants' offer to bathe, to become presentable for  _ the Fire Lord _ , but her heart was beating a staccato rhythm in her chest, and it would only be soothed by him.

“Hi, Zuko.”

She can’t tell who ran to who, but she’s tangled up in his arms, running fingers through soft hair (longer than hers now!) and burrows into the warmth of his neck. Impulsively, she places a gentle kiss on his pulse point, and she can feel more than hear the quiet gasp and the arms fractionally tightening around her.

“My office,” he murmurs, curved towards her ear, and she tangles her hand in his as they wind their way through the halls to his private office, and she takes the moment to just savor the warmth of his hand in hers, slotting together like a puzzle piece.

Katara glimpses Iroh in the hall, and he simply beams at her and gives her a gentle wave, and with her free hand, she waves back and quirks a grin.  _ Home _ , she thinks.  _ I could get used to this _ .

Once in Zuko’s office, Katara perches herself on the edge of his desk as he prowls around the other side, rummaging through the drawers.

“Oh, I’m not enough to keep you away from your duties, Fire Lord?” she teases, dropping her pack onto the floor and crossing her legs.

“I’m ever the dutiful Fire Lord,” Zuko says, “but this isn’t work.” 

He drops a stack of varying sizes of parchment on the desk, tied neatly with a blue ribbon. “Your letters,” he says, tapping the stack. “Most of them designed to stop my heart, even after you worked so hard on keeping it going after Azula.”

“Not intentionally!” Katara protests, but her grin belays any seriousness. “I just wanted to update you on the state of your nation!”

“Then how do you explain the letter smeared with blood?”

“Well, it wasn’t all my blood. I think.”

“ _ That’s _ reassuring,” Zuko grouses, dropping into his chair.

Katara takes a moment to take him in. In his chair, robes slightly rumpled, head in his hands. Her grin grows impossibly wider. This is the Zuko she knows. “ _ Tui and La _ ,” she whispers. “I missed you.”

Startled, he sits up, watching Katara twist her upper body to face him. She’s beautiful, even straight off the road. Her short hair curls around her face, and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose make him want to press a kiss to every mark from the sun.

“Agni, I hope so. It makes me feel better about how much I missed you,” he admits, and she lights up like the sun at this, her face open. The fire in his core burns,  _ burns  _ with the desire to fold himself around her like he could contain a fraction of her essence.

“Sorry about Toza, again. He’s a nice guy,” Katara admits, “But I wasn’t really looking for company.”

“Well,  _ the Painted Lady _ needed a little human backup. Reading those reports took a few years off my life. And don’t apologize, you’re not sorry about sending him back.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” she confesses with another smile. “But I felt like I should apologize. Tell me, how mad were you about that letter?”

“I dragged out some of the guards to spar with me and arrived sweaty and late to my afternoon meeting. The ministers were  _ not _ impressed,” Zuko tells her, reaching up to pull his hair out of his top knot, dropping the crown on the desk. 

“That damn thing always gives me a headache,” he grumbles.

“Should I kiss it better?”

“...I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Katara swings her legs off the desk to circle around to his side, perching carefully in his lap to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head. 

“Does that help?”

Wrapping his hands around her waist, Zuko tucks his head under her chin. “I think I could get a lot of work done like this,” he murmurs. “It’d keep my temper in check in some of those blasted meetings.”

“Not sure how your ministers would feel if I hang off your chest like a koalaotter in every meeting, but you’re the expert here, not me,” Katara says with a laugh.

Zuko neglects answering, grumbling into the hollow of her throat, and her giggle turns into a gasp as he turns his lips and bites down on her pulse point before soothing the sting with a gentle swipe of his tongue.

“We’re in your office,” Katara hisses without heat, distracted by a trail of kisses along her collar bone. “Anyone could walk in.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you sat on my lap,” Zuko mumbles into her sternum. “Besides, they know not to disturb me this afternoon. I asked Uncle to run interception as soon as I received word you were at the gates.”

“As lovely as this welcome is, I’m in dire need of a bath,” Katara confesses, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Just one more moment,” Zuko says, tilting her face down to catch her lips with his.

* * *

Later that night, after a warm bath, they lay tangled in bed together. Katara enjoys the feeling of a real mattress underneath her, the warmth of his lips pressed to the scar on her shoulder. 

“We match,” she murmurs, tracing from his face down to the scar on his chest with her fingers, punctuating her touch with a feather light press of her lips.

“I could’ve gone my whole life without us matching on that,” he rasps, gold eyes tracking her every movement, hand tangling in her short hair.

“Well, I simply couldn’t stand it,” she sniffs. “Besides, it was in service of your country.”

“Our country, now.” Zuko smirks. “No take backs. You’ve called it ‘home’ for long enough.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Katara whispers, ducking her head to meet his lips again, the heat singing in her blood. “I’m home now.”

Katara breathes, feeling like pottery threaded with gold—made whole, made more beautiful by her experiences and her wounds.

“Welcome home, Katara.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! My first fic in five years. Please leave comments, I always find them so inspiring. I'm hoping to get back into writing, just because it's a great creative outlet to have. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr [criticalho](https://criticalho.tumblr.com/) to chat. A big thanks to [Phos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phos/pseuds/Phos) for being a great beta and a great person to bounce ideas off of — even if we're no longer college roommates!
> 
> One thing I'd like to address: does Katara kill people? In this fic, yes. Child soldiers kinda fuck me up, but as rosy as the TV show portrayed it, it's still a war. I've seen convincing arguments in many fics for both sides, but in this fic, she's killing rapists. Go off, queen.


End file.
